


Hope

by Cuileth



Series: Thrawn: A Warrior's Tales [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Angst, Ar'alani deserves a medal, Ar'alani is fed up with everything, Art, Chiss (Star Wars), Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars), Chiss Politics, Chiss society is complicated, Coping Mechanisms, F/M, Failing at coping, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Illustrations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Outbound Flight: Aftermath, Protective Siblings, Red Flame, Suppression of feelings, Thrawn deserves a hug, Traditions, Young Thrass, Young Thrawn, but with Thrawn especially, go read Outbound Flight if you haven't already it's phenomenal, no one tell them how adorable they are but they really are, smol Chiss, spoilers for outbound flight, the Eighth Ruling Family is not happy with you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuileth/pseuds/Cuileth
Summary: It has been three months since the events of Outbound Flight and Mitth'raw'nuruodo has been restless. Suspecting he's up to something (isn't he always?), Admiral Ar'alani confronts him.Meanwhile, Thrawn finds himself leaning heavily on an uncharacteristic feeling: hope. But sometimes, that isn't enough.
Relationships: Thrass | Mitth'ras'safis/Original Character(s)
Series: Thrawn: A Warrior's Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691017
Comments: 50
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter One

_"All people have regrets. Warriors are no exception. One would hope it was possible to distinguish between events caused by one’s carelessness or lack of ability and those caused by circumstances or forces beyond one’s control. But in practice, there is no difference. All forms of regret sear equally deeply into the mind and soul. All forms leave scars of equal bitterness."  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ The asteroid was drifting leisurely in front of the mottled black sky of the Crustai system, it’s slow rotation almost imperceptible. The calm and stillness were treacherous however, especially compared to the bustling activity of the hidden Chiss base inside the asteroid. Its commander’s flagship, the Springhawk, had once again returned from battle – once again victorious.

Also once again, it required thorough repairs, and an even more thorough restocking of all necessary material, reaching from tibanna gas and plasma for the weapon charges to food and oxygen for life support. It was being resupplied with a staggering amount of seemingly random tech parts and smaller components taken from stations and repair equipment as well. Knowing Mitth’raw’nuruodo however, the parts missing were anything _but_ random.

Suppressing a frustrated growl, Admiral Ar’alani of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet made her way through the hurried soldiers, techs and cleaning personnel who currently swarmed the Springhawk’s corridors like hungry mynocks. Although she shouldn’t be complaining, really, she thought - everyone obediently and quickly made way to let her through, with the occasional salute being thrown in. She parted the sea of black uniforms easily, her own dazzling white one standing out in stark contrast. Quicker than she had expected considering the hustle, she reached the bridge.

“Commander!” she called imperiously to the turned back of her target, one of the youngest and brightest officers the Ascendancy had. He turned, then stiffened to attention.

“In the name of all who serve the Chiss, I greet-“ he began, but Ar’alani cut him off. _She makes a sharp motion with her left hand, her tone decisive, but hushed in spite its urgency_.  
  
“None of that, now,” she said. “I need to speak with you immediately. In private, your office preferably.” For a long moment, he just stared at her unblinkingly, his eyes darting rapidly over her face, arms and hands. Surely, he wouldn’t refuse her order, not on his own bridge, with witnesses being present? That would be a new one, even for him.  
  
_Her stance is stiff and her facial muscles rigid. Perhaps anger, perhaps frustration. There are unspoken words of challenge and authority, but she is also slightly inclined forwards, displaying receptiveness despite the formality and stiffness. A personal request, then? No… a warning, possibly a reprimand._

“Follow me, if you please, admiral,” he said, leading the way away from the center of the bridge and towards his office, turning halfway to give a few, quick orders to the officers he had been consulting with until Ar’alani’s arrival. Stepping aside, he let her enter before him as was appropriate for their respective ranks.

The lights of the room were already on but dimmed to only 35% of maximum. Several large holograms of statues, flats and pictures tinged the room in an eerie blue light, illuminating even _more_ sculptures strewn almost haphazardly over the desk and counterspace available. Ar’alani froze in apprehension of the sight before her - she _knew_ some of those artworks - but then Mitth’raw’nuruodo quickly strode past her and keyed in a few commands at the console on his desk.

The office brightened as at the same time the holos were turned off and when he turned to face her, she shook herself out of her momentary stupor. Why was she even still surprised?

“What is _this_?” she demanded. _There is wariness in her tone and body stance, but also certainty and resolve. A suspicion has been confirmed. She sweeps her hand in a wide arc indicating the whole room before bringing it to rest behind her back again._

“Research,” he said simply.

“Research. For what? Have you not just come back from having destroyed the enemy?”

“There are always more enemies to be identified, faced, and vanquished. You know that as well as I do, admiral.”

“Mind your tone, Commander,” she said irritatedly. “Did you really think I would not recognize the artwork? Or that I would not notice the pieces of backup equipment and repair stations missing? I ask you this only once again: What is the meaning of this?” He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and her patience was running very thin now. She really was growing extraordinarily tired from dealing with these antics of his. “Commander…”

“You say you recognize it. You tell me what it is you see then, admiral.” _Her brow furrows and the corners of her lips turn downward even more. She makes a small, involuntary step forward. A silent threat, perhaps._

“I will not play your games, Mitth’raw’nuruodo! What if the Aristocra hear of this? It only has been a month since your last hearing and even the success from your victory today will not spare you if you do not adhere to your orders. I am one of the few from among the admiralty who are sympathetic towards you. I might be the only one who is in favor of you. Being dishonest or elusive with me will gain you nothing.”

He stared at her, unmoving, then lowered his gaze. “My apologies, admiral. As you have apparently already gathered, these are the few pieces of art that the Ascendancy possesses about the Vagaari and their conquest.”

He ran his fingers almost reverently over a pile of colorfully painted wood and feathers on his right side. “This, I believe, might be the only sculpt I have come across that they themselves have created, but it is incomplete and only a part of a greater build, most likely a larger version of the masks they wear. I was hoping to find clues that may be used to track their relative movement across the galaxy and the systems they prey on and hence predict where they will strike next. Even when one is not aware of it yet, there is a pattern to everything. I intend to exploit that pattern.”

A short pause, then he added softly: “I intend to finish what was started here three months ago.”

“Indeed,” Ar’alani said, trying hard and only partially succeeding in hiding her displeasure. “You are no exception to such patterns, apparently. You have been given explicit orders by the Aristocra _and_ the Admiralty to heed the Vagaari no further notice. And yet again, you defy them.” She scoffed softly.

“Hope? I would have expected something more substantial from you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Hope is little more than false or highly unlikely expectations. You cannot and will not use military resources on _hope._ ”

He tensed, turning away and regarding a rather ugly constellation of what seemed to be crudely carved rocks fused together. “I assure you, admiral, I have only spent time on the issue when off-duty. Furthermore, no one else would have interest in these pieces.”

“Time that you instead could use to rest or to study other, more important matters. You are chasing a ghost. The Vagaari have been scattered, they are of no more concern to you – if they ever truly were. And when I mentioned military resources, I spoke of _you_ , commander. You are a servant of the Chiss Ascendancy and you will abide to its dictates.” _She relaxes slightly_ , _her tone softening a notch_.

“I understand that this is of personal importance to you. But this doesn’t justify –“

“My efforts are not driven by personal reasons, admiral,” he interjected. “The Vagaari were and still are a threat to our people. They will most assuredly recover and regroup, and then they will return in possibly even greater force.”

“Because you have engaged them in combat and thereby made us a target!” Ar’alani snapped, her patience faltering. He frowned and opened his mouth to speak. “And do _not_ interrupt me again.”

She waited a moment to drive the point home, then continued: “The Vagaari are of no more concern to the CEDF and the Ascendancy as a whole and therefore also not to you. I will confiscate these items and you will also delete the digital copies and other holograms you have on the topic of them. That is an order, commander. Do not make me repeat myself another time.”

 _The last words are spoken slower and with clearer enunciation as well as in a lower pitch._ _The sympathy is gone from her expression, replaced by frustration and resolution. Her eyes are narrowed significantly, the gaze is bright and hard, her mouth set in a firm unrelenting line._

Mitth’raw’nuruodo seemed to wilt a little. “Yes, admiral.”

“Should I have reason to believe you are dwelling on these marauders again, I will see myself forced to report it directly to military and Aristocra jurisdiction. I can only imagine the punishment for breaking their directive so blatantly would be severe.”

His head snapped up and he frowned at her slightly. “You are not reporting it this time, admiral?” he asked quietly.

“No.” Offering no further explanation – as, frankly, there wasn’t any, besides from the fact it would be an outright _shame_ if he were to suffer demotion or, as Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano had threatened personally, exile – she pressed: “And what about the missing equipment? What is your plan with it?”

An almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips. “I took only what was redundant or present in abundance,” he said. At her dark expression, he added quickly: “I have constructed some customized transmitters and sensors, designed to pick up possible signals from the missing dreadnoughts.”

It took all her experience and countenance to neither openly gape nor to bury her head in her hands in exasperation. This man was going to be the end of her... As it was, all that came of it was a little snort of disbelief. “Outbound Flight? Are you _serious_?”

“Why would I be joking?” he replied.

“Because it is ridiculous! You disabled and obliterated Outbound Flight yourself, there is hardly anyone left on the ships to operate it and since we have not heard from the syndic yet – ah. I see. Now please do not insult my intelligence by claiming trying to find your brother _isn’t personal_.”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo had stiffened visibly at her mentioning the destruction of the republic vessel and even more when she referred to his brother. “The craft and its technology would be of great benefit to the Defense Fleet,” he said finally. But his tone was subdued and defeated, the earlier pride and conviction gone from his shoulders and face.

Ar’alani could see many lines of tension in his expression that had not been there three months ago. Now that she looked at him more closely, he seemed harrowed somewhat, and even through the sturdy uniform material she could glean he had put on even more muscle mass during his last missions.

Considering how much time he spent on the bridge or mulling over strategies and some elusive artworks in his office, she pondered, he had most likely spent every other waking minute in the training rooms. Waking minutes of which he had probably had quite many. There were dark circles under his eyes, the red waterline had become almost the dark color of blood and even the fierce shine of his eyes was reduced to a dull glow.

However, it was hardly her business, so she resolutely put her observations aside. It would only become her problem if he were no longer fit for duty. The commander inclined his head slightly to the side, analyzing her inspection of him in turn.

_She draws herself up to her full height. There is pride, but also a sense of resignation and loss._

“Do not forget that Mitth’ras’safis gave his life to ensure no Ruling Family would gain control of the vessel and its assets. You yourself spoke of what ruin that might bring to our people. If it was found on any official capacity – “ Then it struck her. “So that is why you have not simply requested additional sensor equipment? You hope to do this on your own? Find the ship and your brother, recover him and the information, and then – what? Not enclose your findings? Withhold your observations? Surely you must realize how slim the chances are of even finding them, and how much smaller of him being still alive?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “Yet there is as much solid proof of him being dead as for him being alive, namely none.”

“His absence and silence are the proof. The syndic honored his duty to his people in his actions, and you would be wise to do the same. Put the ship and him to rest at last.”

She gestured towards him with her hand. “Your scrutiny and attention are needed on one of our many fronts. If I could help it, even more than one of them.” She attempted a small reassuring smile, but the compliment felt hollow and flat. Sighing inwardly, she took a step back.

“Do not dwell on hope, commander. It will only blind you of reality. I will send men to gather… these items. See to it that their work can and will be done thoroughly. Do not even consider withholding some pieces. Oh, and if I find any more technical components missing that should not be missing as per the battle reports, I will restrict restocking. I believe you would not want the standards of your ship to suffer.”

 _She turns to leave, hesitates and turns around. For a moment, her stoic expression falters and her eyes look beyond into the distance. Her features are clouded for a moment, perhaps with_ _regret, perhaps with sympathy_. _Her hand twitches forwards and up, as if to reach for my shoulder, then hesitates and falls unusually graceless back to her side._

“He truly was a very talented man. His voice and services will be missed.” Also because that meant one vigorous supporter less for Mitth’raw’nuruodo and his unconventional means and methods, thus more of that would fall to her, the cynical part of her brain added.

For a moment, his eyes flashed and he scowled at her, leaving her wondering if he had predicted her train of thought and was reacting to unspoken words as he sometimes would do. But she blinked and his expression had smoothed out again, looking severe and almost serene as he said: “Yes. He will.”  
  


* * *

  
_"And always, beneath the scar, lurks the thought and fear that there was something else that could have been done. Some action or inaction that would have changed things for the better. Such questions can sometimes be learned from. All to often, they merely add to the scar tissue._  
_A warrior must learn to set those regrets aside as best as he can. Knowing full well that they will never be far away."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all who made it this far liked it, this is my first uploaded work ever. Hence I will also gladly accept any feedback or tips, but please don't be too harsh, as I said, it's my first work. My writing itself is a work in progress, of course ^^
> 
> Obviously, the very first and last part of Chapter One isn't me, it's a direct quote from the man himself, Timothy Zahn. But when I had read that one for the first time I couldn't help but think of Outbound Flight. It fits perfectly in my opinion. So I borrowed it XD  
> Apropos: The small paragraphs in italic are Thrawn's POV - mostly his observations - just as in the new Thrawn novels. I really like the concept and wanted to use it here, too. All credit for that goes to Zahn, naturally.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine more months have passed since Ar'alani ordered Thrawn to stand down and stop looking for the remains of Outbound Flight and his lost brother. The Ascendancy is ready to count its losses and move on - Thrawn perhaps not just yet.

Although almost everyone of importance in the Ascendancy was aware of what must have happened to Syndic Mitth’ras’safis, no one _actually_ knew the details, not even Thrawn himself. At the time Ar’alani had come to speak to him, most syndics, aristocra and officers simply assumed Thrass dead, but it took a full year since his disappearance for legal files to recognize the status quo.

Until then, Thrawn had dutifully conceded to the orders of his admiral and after recovering the devices he had planted on outposts and asteroids, he diligently disassembled them again, restoring the pieces to their original places.

His now former sister-in-law Mitth’era’sabosen had started publicly speaking out for his eviction from the Eighth Ruling Family for the actions that had led to her spouse’s death. Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano, naturally, was speaking out for his eviction from the Ascendancy altogether, but his arguments fell on deaf ears within the admiralty.

They argued that besides from the three months directly after the whole unfortunate incident - in which Mitth’raw’nuruodo had of course scored victories but seemed overall preoccupied - he had ever since doubled his efforts for the Ascendancy, tirelessly beating his own previous records of speed, efficiency and ingenuity. That in turn also meant even less involvement of his with the social events and overall ruckus in Csaplar itself, but in that regard, everyone including the commander silently agreed that this could only be for the better. Without Mitth’ras’safis to keep him check, such situations had proven to be a political disaster waiting to happen.

The waves of internal commotion died down over time, but never fully vanished. The Ruling Families all took turns in being insulted at not having obtained the advantageous foreign technology and insulting the other families for having wanted that power for themselves. It was fortunate Thrawn was barely spending any time planetside or he might have been summarily thrown out on the spot – Thrass would have been pulling his hair out over the fact that his brother had called the gathered council members short-sighted fools.

To their faces, nonetheless.

Eventually, a ceremony was held on Copero, the home planet of the Mitth family, to honour the Syndic’s passing. It was nothing too unusual for a deceased Chiss to have no body to be buried or burned – many had been lost between the stars, including the brothers’ parents before their adoption into the Eighth. There were some pretty words and traditional phrases being thrown around, but Thrawn barely made it through it all with his nerves intact.

Did any of the decorated representatives which had been flocking to the commemoration even _know_ Thrass? Did anyone actually care or would they just mourn his political prowess and the usefulness of this _asset_ that was now lost to them? Did Mitth’era’sabosen even care or was she just affronted to have been robbed of a promising match, a rising star politician? She had never struck him as overly personally invested in his brother whatsoever.

He wasn’t sure, but he strongly (and with a sense of grim understanding) suspected it was nothing that the Mitth wouldn’t be able to fix with another adoption.

Another match arranged.

Another patronage given to a gifted young Chiss.

The orators spoke of Thrass’s talents and skills, the opportunities and advancements he had created and spoken out for, his incredible career. The promise he’d shown. His honour, his sense of duty, the sacrifice he’d made. It wasn't that Thrawn disagreed.

But of course no one mentioned the patience and resilience he’d shown when taking care of his struggling and difficult-to-handle younger brother. No word about his dry and cynical humor, the way he could coax a smile out of Thrawn despite all the aversion they’d endured. They didn’t know how Thrass wouldn’t ask awkward or judgmental questions (as their family patrons did) when Thrawn had once again worked himself to exhaustion, passing out in the Mitth estate library. Instead he'd gently wake him and shoo him to his bed without rousing the guards or servants, providing him with fresh juice and words of admonishment the next morning - he had somehow always managed to be harsh and gentle at the same time. It was something the countless instructors and tutors had spectacularly failed at, but then of course, they hadn’t even _tried_.

There had been a time when Thrass used to draw little pictures for his brother to cheer him up, but he’d stopped some time after the young man had started gradually beating him at every game of strategy claiming it was because "he could see it in his art”. Instead, he'd practically _excavated_ old paintings from the archives and challenge his brother to analyze _those_ (and subsequently be positively dumbfounded when Thrawn did just that).

However he had never stopped appreciating the paintings he himself had gifted to Thrass, Thrawn remembered detachedly as he gathered them from his brother’s belongings and carefully placed them in a small but sturdy wooden chest. He had collected the ones Thrass had made for him, too, and after a moment of hesitation, they joined the rest in their makeshift coffin. All except one. He stared down at it, his fingers cramped around it, unable or perhaps unwilling to let go.

_“Travelers tell the story of a great beast, the Chimaera_. _It has many armored legs and two long, scaly necks with snake-like heads that can breathe fire. Some say it is the result of millennia of evolution, combining the most dangerous morphologies and skills of the deadliest predators. Some say it is just a myth, a story to scare children like you.”_ _He gently nudged his brother’s side with his elbow._

_I’m not scared!” Raw protested. “Why would I be afraid of it? There is no enemy or creature the CEDF can’t kill. I will kill it_ myself _if I must, to protect our people. To protect you!”_

_Ras chuckled at the earnestness and resolution in his little brother’s voice. “I bet you will. Actually, some claim it is a symbol. A figure that represents the Red Flame. You know- "_

_"I know!" Raw interrupted quickly. He counted off on his fingers. "Cunning, strength, courage. A state of preparedness. Honour.” He frowned in concentration. "And discipline," he added proudly after a short moment._

_Ras smiled down fondly at him, ruffling through his hair._ _"Sticking together and taking care of each other, too," he said, gently batting away Raw's hands as he tried to stop him from mussing with his hair._

_“I will take care of you, Ras. I won’t let the Chimaera eat you. You will see! I’ll be an admiral! And then the Chimaera will run from_ me _!” He grew sober, his shoulders sagging a little, gaze cast downward and voice small. “I won’t let you get lost like A'nu and A'ta, I won't let you. I will take care of you. I promise.”_

_Ras smirked softly, the ironical twinkle in his eyes as he spoke lost on the younger child. “Sure. Let me take care of you first, though. It’s way past bedtime already. Come on.”_

Thrawn stared at the last picture for what felt like an hour, hands trembling slightly. Then he abruptly turned, crossing his hands behind his back to still them and went on his way to Copero’s capital to buy some carving tools, brushes, pigments and a slab of stone.

The materials weren’t as easy to find as he had first thought – the practice of carving a gravestone for deceased family members had died out many hundreds of years ago. But it was a beautiful yet complex craft, and Thrawn was determined to learn it. Having gathered the necessary equipment, he set to work.

The Chiss of old would carve these stones to lay them on the graves, keep them as memorials on the family grounds or place them somewhere significant – it all depended on several factors such as money, preference and whether there even was a body.

There were several types of stone to choose from traditionally, each with different meanings and variant price tags. Both the size and kind of stone stood to signify the household’s wealth and influence – or rather, how much that individual family member was worth to those still alive. The colours were of similar importance – they each held symbolisms and intricate meanings, but some were also simply more expensive and yet another means to flaunt one’s prosperity if so inclined. Thrawn didn’t care much for that. He had studied the connotations of the pigments and what they stood for in different combinations - that was what he would use for the colouring. Some of the tints he had to create by hand anyway and pricing mattered little.

The arrangement of symbols and ornaments were more variant and individual – they could be the deceased’s name or glyph as in the old calligraphy, they could be an icon or figure they had cherished in life. Often, they would speak of the abilities and achievements of the individual and sometimes just be an artistic expression of the creators.

  
Thrawn already knew exactly what he would paint and which shades to use. But first he had to shape the stone and carve the patterns into it – all manually, of course. He was no stranger to hard labor, however the unusual exertion soon took its toll on him and over the course of several days there were callouses and blisters forming on his fingers and palms. Only when they started to tear and bleed, he granted himself some respite to bandage his hands and then continued adamantly.

He was back on the Springhawk now though and the officers under his command were obviously wondering what in the name of Csilla’s seven moons he was doing, but the few who had the courage and nerve to ask got short, vague answers about exercise injuries. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, really, his hands _had_ already been bruised because of that exact reason before he’d started this project. Besides, beneath the emotionless, numb haze and single-minded focus that occupied his mind these days, he did appreciate their concern and had no intent to antagonize them over what had happened.

And then, finally, suddenly, all too quickly, it was finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after I had written the last chapter, I had this idea in my head how things would continue from there and even though I was very satisfied with how I had wrapped up the chapter, it stuck and wouldn't leave me in peace ^^ So admittedly the transition might not be as smooth as I like and the style is different since there is barely any dialogue here - I personally still am content with how it turned out, I hope you enjoy it too.  
> There is a good deal more of introspection here as well, I am curious what you think of that - if anyone would take a moment to tell me in the comments what you prefer, I'd be very thankful. I am still very new to all this and will certainly take your feedback into consideration :) On that note I'd like to thank the wonderful BlueMarble for her support and being my beta reader! <3
> 
> A'nu [aʔˈnuː], roughly: "uh-NOO" is Cheunh for "mum"  
> A'ta [aʔˈʈaː], roughly: "uh-TUH" is Cheunh for "dad"  
> So to make two things very clear:
> 
> 1) Yes, I am absolutely making a science of this and I am treating it like an actual Constructed Language (sorta), considering language development, sounds and grammar and so on and whatever it is that apparently makes it unpronouncable for humans.  
> 2) I absolutely understand if you don't see or hear it as I do and think I am overdoing it. I might be overdoing it. You do not have to agree with me whatsoever. I'll hold no grudge ^^
> 
> But I am interested in philology and want to explore this opportunity, soooo here we are. It was a bit of a pain in the backside figuring out the exact sounds in the International Phonetic Alphabet, short IPA (a.k.a. the funny symbols you see above), but this is how it sounds in my head. If you know what a glottal stop [ʔ] is, yes, I know it's difficult to pronounce in the middle of a word. That's the point XD I got the inspiration from the audiobooks and started my operations there, if you will.
> 
> I mean OMG an almost completely unexplored language that has an easy grammar and is nigh impossible to pronounce for humans (that's what it says in the Outbound Flight book and in the new canon books, too)? How exciting! The possibilities! I have some rough ideas in my head already since this will not be the last Cheunh you'll see from me, but I'll figure the details out when I get there. Otherwise I might stand there with a conlang and no story XD
> 
> ... I am overdoing it. But it's fun, at least for me. So I'll continue doing it :D


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that his work on the stone is finished, Thrawn needs to find a good spot to put it. And he knows just the one - it's not any official or fancy place. In fact it's unlikely anyone but him even knows it exists - well, Thrass knew, too... To get there, he returns to his childhood home, a place he hasn't visited in years.

Luckily, it didn't take much time for Thrawn to return to Csilla after having finished his work. Until then, his hands had healed somewhat, but he still wore the bandages soaked in a soothing tincture for good measure. The gravestone carefully wrapped in a protective cloth and stuffed into a satchel together with the wooden box, he travelled downwards, further away from the surface.

Home.

It was odd to be back after such a long time, he reflected, but when he stepped out of the lift and looked for a means of transportation, he saw that it hadn’t changed much at all. The tall supporting columns, the connection tunnels, the intricate labyrinth of streets and alleys… It seemed warmer down here not only because he was closer to the warmth of Csilla’s core but also due to the lesser quality lighting and everything seemed less spacious, yet there was a sense of worldliness and earnest simplicity that Thrawn hadn’t realized he’d missed.

It felt incredibly raw.

Swallowing hard around repressed memories, one hand momentarily clutching at his chest to control a sudden feeling of tightness, he continued. He didn’t look at the people he passed as he got himself one of the indoor speeder bikes, but he couldn’t help his peripheral vision.

 _Some faces seem familiar. There is a various measure of jealousy in their expression, but also tentative awe and respect. They perhaps remember me from my youth. For some, it is thinly veiled disgust. They most likely have read or heard about what had transpired._ _Even though a year has passed, t_ _hey recognize me as the commander who was responsible for the slaughter of tens of thousands of civilians, and regardless of the victims being outsiders, they disapprove harshly. It is unlikely they are aware of the political implications, however some might also realize I am to blame for a syndic’s death._

He couldn’t criticize them for that, of course. He had severely miscalculated and in the end, Thrass had paid the price.

Not him.

 _He_ had survived. With a bruised neck and windpipe and a political mess at his hands, but he had survived.

The least he could do was to put that life to good use.

Frowning, he rounded the last corner and parked his vehicle, heaving the satchel on his back and going on by foot, disappearing into the older, mostly unused tunnels. He was distantly aware that some of the few people he met inclined their heads in greeting, but they were less and less of them as the roads became slimmer and rougher until eventually he was alone.

Thrawn was grateful for the fact he hadn’t happened upon anyone he’d known – or, more importantly, whom Thrass had known – when he reached his destination. Squeezing with difficulty through some narrow pathways and ignoring the worn warning signs and halfhearted barriers which had been drawn up to keep out anyone who were to wander in, he approached a small alcove in the roughly hewn wall.

_“There you are! Finally found you..Raw, you can’t run away like that. Wait – is that what I think it is?”_

_“_ _You can’t come here! This is my place!” Raw hissed. “I just wanted to read in peace, Ras. I prefer to be here. Leave me alone.” He did try hard to look inconspicuous (and failing miserably), admittedly, trying to hide the datareader he’d been studying behind his back._

 _“_ _Raw… that is a District Library datacard, isn’t it?”  
_

_"What does it matter to you?”_

_“_ _You can’t just take a book from the DL, Raw, how often…” Ras groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “You’ll get in serious trouble._ I _will get in serious trouble for letting you do that. Why don’t you go to the Public library? You are allowed to read those. And just wait a few more years, and you’ll get allowed access to the District Library as well.”_

_Raw raised a condescending eyebrow. “I won’t wait. I have studied every book the Public Library has stored. I don’t need to read them again. That’s boring and also utterly useless.”_

_Ras growled low in his throat. “You’ll bring it back, Raw. Today. Or do you want for them to withdraw your access to both libraries as is the penalty for such a transgression?” His brother studied him for a moment, then, to his surprise, he nodded._

_“Fine, I‘ll do it.”_

_"What?”_

_“I said fine. Didn’t you hear me?”_

_“I did, I just… didn’t expect…”_

_“Then don’t complain when I do what you tell me.”_

_Ras snorted softly. “I guess I really shouldn’t, seeing how rare such an occasion is. We should celebrate.”_

_He could see the corners of Raw’s mouth lift slightly. “If you insist. I’d like some fisjar bread for dinner then.”_

_Ras was very tempted to roll his eyes at that - however in contrast to his brother he_ _saw the value of being dignified, he told himself. But then a thought crossed his mind, and he frowned. Raw had picked up the reader again and his eyes were darting quickly over the lines, at an impressive pace for his young age. He had caved far too quickly… “_

_You were going to finish it today anyway, weren’t you?”_

_This time, Raw’s smile was more of a self-satisfied smirk. “Perhaps.”_

_Ras huffed. Typical. Exhaling slowly to calm his labored nerves, he said: “Just seven more months, Raw. Then I may access the District Library, and if you behave, I can get some books for you, too. But right now I must say I’m rather disappointed and not exactly inclined to help you.”_

_“What does it matter to me if you may or may not get me a datacard? I can get my own.” He gestured to the one in his hand._

_“You will not always get away with it! You’ll be caught, and there’ll be serious repercussions. For both of us.”_

_“Then I simply mustn’t get caught.” Ras stared at his little brother. He couldn’t possibly be serious? “It’s not that difficult, actually,” Raw continued as if he didn’t notice his exasperation, “I just- “_

_“I don’t want to know, Raw. I really don’t. And if you don’t stop stealing datacards, I will have to tell the librarians.” There. He’d said it. Raw stared at him, face expressionless, then he scowled._

_“_ _I am not stealing them. I put them back. And usually quicker than those who get them the official way,” he sneered._

_“It doesn’t matter, Raw! It’s against the rules!” he ground out. Then, much more softly, he added: “Please, Raw. Please see reason. Even if you don’t understand it. If anything ever goes wrong, that falls back on me, too. Do you want that?” For a long moment, they just looked at each other, then hurt and betrayal flashed across Raw’s face._

_“No,” he said bitterly. “But I have read all the other books. How will I progress otherwise? You cannot expect me to wait five more years.”_

_“I don’t,” Ras sighed. “As I said, I can get them on your behalf, as long as things work out.” He eyed the datareader skeptically. “That’s >The Way of the Warrior<, isn’t it? Do you even understand that one?” _

_“_ _Yes,” he said defiantly. “I do.”_

_“No questions at all?” Ras asked, suppressing a grin. He wasn’t one to bet, but… as he expected, Raw’s brow furrowed in concentration._

_“Well… perhaps.”_

_Ras chuckled under his breath. “Come on then, scoot over. I won’t answer all your questions standing here like some fool. And… maybe we can have some fisjar bread later._ After _you brought the card back.”_

It had been his safe haven at first, a space where he would retreat to - mostly from his brother. But when he had first been found there _by said brother_ and it hence had lost its purpose, they had turned it into _their_ place. Thrawn, of course, had found a new refuge to himself immediately, but being holed up like that with Thrass talking for sometimes hours on end had been surprisingly pleasant. They’d come there often before Thrass left to visit the academy.

Afterwards, well… when Thrass had been home, he didn’t have much time for anything. But that was alright. There had been many more books to read and physical training to work through. And then, of course, Thrawn himself had visited the academy, too, and the niche in the tunnel had been forgotten.

He stared at it now, a pleasant and yet unpleasant swirl of memories and emotions he'd tried so hard to forget welling up inside him. Kneeling, he put the satchel on the ground and taking the little stone cutter he had brought with him, he started digging. Pulling the loosened pieces of stone out with his still hurting hands was uncomfortable, but that was hardly anything compared to the throbbing ache he felt in his chest.

When he considered the hole deep enough, he gingerly lowered the box into it, refilling with the small slabs and chunks he’d set aside. Swallowing against the burning pressure in his throat, he positioned the gravestone above it, brushing away some of the dust that was already settling on it, stirred up from all the milling he’d done.

“My apologies,” Thrawn whispered hoarsely. “I failed you. I….”

_I do not know what to say._

_There are many things that I would wish to tell you, but now they will forever be left unspoken._

Instead, he carefully traced the painted patterns on the stone with trembling fingers.

He didn’t know how long he sat there on his heels, hands eventually ending up folded in his lap and staring down at the memorial site. Every so often, he would draw an especially shaky breath or blink rapidly to get rid of the stinging in his eyes.

At last, he bowed his head, closing his eyes and raising his fist over his chest in silent salute. Then, taking a deep breath, he stood up.

“Farewell, Ras. May you be remembered in the brilliant light of the stars and the warm glow of the Red Flame.”

Scooping up the satchel and stone cutter, he turned and walked away.

He didn’t look back.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is obviously the follow-up to the latest chapter. And I am kicking myself so hard because I have so many ideas and designs and pictures in my head how that stone might look but I feel like I have neither the neccessary equipment nor the skills to put those ideas on paper. I thought about not doing it on purpose- to each their own imagination, I do not want to tell you how you "should" imagine the piece. It is something deeply personal for Thrawn, and what that ultimately means is anyone's best guess.  
> I will try anyway, since I obviously do have a headcanon for that, and I want to challenge myself. Gotta finish my draft for Cheunh script and alphabet first, though  
>  ~~why am I doing this to myself I am overcomplicating things again~~
> 
> Apropos:
> 
> fisjar [ˈfiˑsχɐɾ], roughly: FEES- char (ch like in the scottish loch) is a type of bread/ yeast dough cake variant that is a tad more expensive because of the many spices that are in it. It's a little sweet, it's a little spicy. And Thrawn likes it a lot. But he doesn't get it very often as a child. As I said, expensive - some spices even must be imported.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many, many years later, Thrawn sits in his new office on the ISD Chimaera and contemplates chance and coincidence.  
> Or: How did a giant painting of a chimaera end up on the underside of an Imperial Star Destroyer?

_"There is no such thing as luck or fate. Both are concepts that weak-minded beings dredge up from uncertainty and cling to whenever there is no current logical explanation for a specific circumstance._ _But there always is a perfectly logical reason, it might simply be difficult to uncover - history alone proves that. Identifying and examining these instances is sometimes trying and might even seem futile, but the results are just as valuable as they are challenging to compile._

_For if one is able to see rationality and connection where others cannot, that information can easily be turned to devastating advantage._

_Commander Vanto has proven to have an aptitude for seeing patterns that others do not. And not only is he capable of doing so – he is also willing to look for these patterns in the first place. For that particularly, he has earned my respect. Even quite some officers of the Chiss would pale in comparison to his skill and willingness to see – but of course, they as well as large numbers of my Imperial colleagues have always been extremely short-sighted and lack the vision of how to gather and wield such information._

_The Jedi believed in fate – they call it the Force._

_Unfortunately, I have not been able to glean much information about their religion. The topic is forbidden and hence research material is exceedingly sparse and troublesome to obtain for study._

_I deeply regret not having asked General Skywalker about his principles and views on the matter, but there were more pressing issues to deal with at the time. Inquiring Lord Vader on the other hand would be severely ill-advised. Also, he no longer is a Jedi and the little I was able to learn about the Sith indicates they view the Force significantly more practical._

_Decades ago, Maris Ferasi shared with me her opinions about the cult, but she herself neither was nor knew a Jedi personally and thus her insight was highly limited. Additionally, her positive perception was most likely distorted by media representation and what the Order wanted the public eye to see._

_My personal experience with Jedi from that time on the other hand is quite disappointing and unpleasant._

_Apparently, not only can the Jedi draw on the Force as a source for precognition - similar to the Third Sight of the ozyly-esehembo - and for some measure of telepathy and telekinesis, but they seem to believe the Force influences coincidence and chance._

_That in itself is bizarre, especially considering they were wiped out almost completely – if it were true, would they not have benefitted from it?_

_I have found out that the Jedi even seemed to consider some events and specific courses of action fated: inevitable and unalterable in time as well as space._

_That is of course ridiculous._

_I have read about prophecies being made but unfortunately could not yet see one for myself. Naturally, if one gathers enough information and insight about a situation and all factors involved, one may make a reasonable prediction. I myself am working to perfect that art that allows me to win battles even before I meet my opponent on the battlefield._

_However, there can only ever be an educated guess about the likelihood of specific occurrences, never absolute certainty. There is always a gamble and a risk of being mistaken and subsequent failure._

_Therefore, one must never underestimate the importance of probability."_

Today, Thrawn almost found himself questioning that certainty. He had been promoted again, and this time his new rank had come with command over an Imperial Star Destroyer.

The ISD _Chimaera_.

What were the chances?

If he had been a lesser man, he might have resorted to superstition. He might have blamed “fate”. But as it was, such a notion was utterly nonsensical to him. There always _was_ a certain chance of coincidence, as slim as it was.

Nevertheless he found himself in his office later that day, sketching an all too familiar figure. It was unusual for an ISD to be anything but the drab grey colour of durasteel – in fact, it was unheard of – but he didn’t care particularly much. He was well aware by now that he was considered _alien_ or unusual at best and ill-suited or an obscenity at worst iwithin the navy. It hardly mattered anymore.

A distinctive belly art for his ship might intimidate primitive species or individuals into submission without bloodshed.

It might serve as a signature of sorts.

It could serve him well for his opponents to realize just _whom_ they were dealing with – he had made a name for himself, after all.

Thrawn tried very hard to ignore the nagging part of his conscience that told him those reasons where not why he had chosen this particular design.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! A rather large time jump right there, but... well... that's my headcanon how that gigantic painting came to life. Have my illustration of that, too :D ~~damn those hands took me forever and I ended up cutting most of them out anyway because the picture as a whole looked better~~  
>  Disclaimer: If you don't agree with me about that headcanon, that's absolutely fine, of course.
> 
> Now I will say that I am working on an illustration of the gravestone that I've written about in the last two chapters. But that's a whole different level of difficult and complicated, just to have a solid design and all (and a completely newly designed script for Cheunh, oof)... If you're interested in that, I will probably update this fic when I have it done and just have an extra chapter for it *shrug*
> 
> I would like thank all you lovely people who've read my work, left kudos and have commented! You are the best and you have made me so happy! <3  
> Stay tuned for more, I am already working on something new.
> 
> Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates and May the force be with you all, always!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all who made it this far liked it, this is my first uploaded work ever. Hence I will also gladly accept any feedback or tips, but please don't be too harsh, as I said, it's my first work. My writing itself is a work in progress, of course ^^
> 
> Obviously, the very first and last part of Chapter One isn't me, it's a direct quote from the man himself, Timothy Zahn. But when I had read that one for the first time I couldn't help but think of Outbound Flight. It fits perfectly in my opinion. So I borrowed it XD  
> Apropos: The small paragraphs in italic are Thrawn's POV - mostly his observations - just as in the new Thrawn novels. I really like the concept and wanted to use it here, too. All credit for that goes to Zahn, naturally.


End file.
